


Baby's First Blowjob

by lesbianettes



Series: Baby's First [3]
Category: Chicago Med
Genre: (but no actual smut!), Fluff, Kissing, Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pre-smut, bi!Ethan, bi!natalie, gay!Crockett
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2021-01-02 05:08:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21156122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbianettes/pseuds/lesbianettes
Summary: Ethan finally finds his way





	Baby's First Blowjob

Somehow, being honest made things worse. It's been a week since Ethan admitted they were moving too fast, and although their work relationship is back to normal, the way he feels is so different. There's this persistent pain in his chest, a longing ache that grows stronger every time he hears Crockett laugh or their hands brush working over the same patient. A fuse has been lit, hot and bright, and no amount of being unprepared can put it out. 

He spends every single night watching the flowers on the counter slowly die. Petals dropping, one at a time, like the clock running out on whatever caused their one-time kiss and Ethan’s subsequent spiral into confusion. He operates on facts, on labels. Not knowing whether or not he’s actually straight, trying to figure out what he feels about Crockett. The last time he spiraled like this, he took a six month sabbatical to California and learned how to surf. It wasn’t bad, but it definitely didn’t solve any problems, and he doesn’t want to run away this time. 

Every moment in the hospital that he sees Crockett feels like guilt. Shame. He’s into women, yes, but could he love a man? Is that the person he is? It hasn’t been for the majority of his life, and there’s no way that this came out of nowhere. If he’s bi, there has to be some sign of it from before now. Staring down at every report, every patient file, he tries to find some memory of having felt this way about a man before. Some dismissed schoolboy crush, a roommate who had a smile as alluring as Crockett’s. But he comes up empty, adding to how hard it is to figure out if this is real or not. 

He winds up sitting with Natalie again, this time without food, both of them half-concentrating on the discharge papers they’re writing up.

“Does it feel different?” he asks. “Does loving April feel different from loving a man?”

She shakes her head at him. “For me, love feels different every time. I can’t compare the way I love her to the way I’ve loved anyone before her.”

“Me too.”

Because it’s true, that he’s never felt love the same way twice. He just wishes there was a way to find the truth in all this without losing himself in the process. Calling himself straight, it doesn’t feel right anymore. But he’s not ready to call himself bisexual. That’s a word he can’t put to himself yet. Of course, that feeds more into his guilt because on a practical level, he knows it’s not a bad thing. People are bisexual. It doesn’t mean he’s not the same person he was before Crockett kissed him. But it feels like it is when it’s about him

Natalie tells him to take his time figuring out who he is, and he knows it’s time he absolutely has. But it feels like he doesn’t have any. Every petal that drops, every smile Crockett gives someone else, is a nudge closer to needing to make a decision.

If he makes the “wrong” decision, if he labels himself incorrectly, what’s the worst that happens? He changes it later? If he can go this far in life as straight and then decide he’s bisexual, who’s to say he can’t later come to the conclusion that he is straight, after all? It’s okay to be wrong, he knows that logically. But Ethan doesn’t like to be wrong.

This is complicated, and it gets worse.

It gets worse because, nine days after going on a date with Crockett (not that Ethan is counting), he watches Crockett leaning against a wall and talking to Noah Sexton. He’s smiling, head tilted to the side. They’re so close together it hurts. And Crockett leans closer to whisper something that makes Noah laugh. They seem happy, and that’s what Crockett really deserves- someone to make him happy, not someone who needs to be guided through every little thing.

Nine days after Ethan said he needed more time, Crockett has moved on. It shouldn’t hurt like this, but it does, and he doesn’t understand why he wants to cry as he watches them chat idly. Crockett’s voice usually carries, fills a room. But it’s quiet now, intimate. Ethan missed his chance, if he even wanted one to begin with, which is something he still hasn’t figured out.

The only thing he knows for certain is that he’s upset when he asks to speak to Crockett alone, and then that this is a bad idea once they’re locked in a supply closet, chest to chest. Crockett’s grinning at him, eyes shining. Without hesitation, he has his hands cupping Ethan’s jaw all over again.

“Need something, sweetheart?”

Ethan swallows hard and covers one of Crockett’s hands with his own. He’s warm. Every part of him, warm and open and unabashed and everything that Ethan wishes he could be, but just isn’t. He isn’t ready.

“I don’t know,” he admits.

He’s been saying that so much lately. His whole world has turned upside down and it’s like he’s forgotten everything he’s ever known about himself. Nothing is the same. The only thing keeping him grounded is Crockett’s easy touch, and he focuses in tightly on that in an effort to keep himself calm. Keep himself sane.

“I need to go slowly,” he gets out, looking anywhere but Crockett’s face. “I want- I need to go slowly, but I want to try.”

“As slow as you need,” Crockett swears, coming just a little closer. Close enough that their bodies are pressed together, that Ethan can feel the steady beat of his heart. 

He nods. They can go slow. He can figure this out. He’s okay, and he’s not alone, and Crockett’s lips are soft when he kisses him like its the first time again. They’re going to be okay. He stands here and melts into the kiss until it’s time to go back to work, and Crockett asks in a tentative voice if he can make him dinner tonight. 

“I’ve always liked cooking for the people I lo- the people I care about.”

“I’d love that.”

And he means it. In his own home, he’ll feel a little more at ease, and there’s a certain intimacy in cooking for someone that Ethan has always attributed to a love language of its own.

“I’ll get the groceries, you just pick out drinks.”

Crockett kisses him one more time, and they separate for the day. A day spent thinking about dinner, about Crockett, about kissing him and holding him and being as close to him as physically possible so that he doesn’t ever feel empty again.

He chooses beer instead of wine. Crockett likes beer, he knows, and Ethan likes it much better than wine anyways. Instead of being normal, Ethan leaves work early to make sure his apartment is as clean as possible. He keeps it immaculate anyways, for his own sanity, but he worries it won’t be good enough. He won’t be good enough, and Crockett will move on, leaving him with a crisis and a ton of pain. 

Three hours after Ethan gets home, Crockett knocks on the door. Every floor has been swept, every counter wiped down. The dying roses are still keeping a valiant effort on the dining room table, within view and a clinging hope Ethan can’t throw away yet. Crockett looks nice, cleaned up, but not as formal as last time in dark pants and a plain shirt. He looks casual. But beautiful. His smile lights up the entire apartment as he sets grocery bags on the table and rolls his wrists against the strain carrying them had brought.

“Thought I’d make you something good from home,” Crockett says, pulling ingredients out. “Ever had a Crawfish Monica?”

“I don’t know what that is,” Ethan answers.

Crockett pulls out a cylinder of butcher paper, wrinkled with something inside it. If Ethan had to guess, it’s shrimp stacked on top of each other. Onions and garlic, seasoning and butter, a cheap bottle of wine, take over his counter and Crockett easily finds cutting boards, knives, pans. He works with the same efficiency he performs surgeries when he starts chopping onions fine.

“It’s a pasta thing. There’re no good crawfish in Chicago, so I’m using shrimp. It won’t be as good, but it’ll still be-” he pauses to imitate a dramatic chef’s kiss, “-fantastic.”

“How can I help?”

He scoffs and waves Ethan off with a dismissive hand. “You just sit there and look pretty, let me do this for you.”

The compliment sends a flush down Ethan’s cheeks, which he ignores as he watches Crockett cook. It’s a dance, practiced and perfected, in the way he cooks the pasta, sautés onions, throws in the deveined shrimp. Precise. Again, surgical, and beautiful. Ethan’s never seen something that’s made him feel so cared for. Crockett is putting in this time, precision, and care for something intended to show love for Ethan. He might start crying.

“I’ll get beers for us,” he says instead, and Crockett hums an affirmative as he shakes the saucepan.

They eat. It tastes good. Ethan is quiet and appreciative, sneaking glances at Crockett even though he’s allowed to look. Crockett drinks beer, tells stories of eating this back home. And, more than once, he leans over the table to kiss Ethan’s cheek or tell him something sweet in a conspiring voice. This is what it feels like to be wooed, he’s fairly certain, and it’s working.

“I’ll take care of the dishes,” he says decisively when it’s over. He puts their bowls in the sink, starts the pots soaking to clean once Crockett is gone. He doesn’t want him to leave yet. There’s nothing to cling to, though, and he’s running out of time to ask Crockett to stay for even a moment longer. “Thanks for dinner.”

“Thank you for having me.”

He takes a deep breath, ready for a goodbye, and finds himself pulled in close against Crockett’s warm chest. No space between them. Nothing but the way it feels to be held, and then the softest of kisses. Crockett’s kisses always leave him feeling warm all over. He sighs when it stops, gets a firm grip on Crockett’s shirt to hold him there for just one minute more. One more kiss. 

But then Crockett is gone. 

The loneliness burns now, but Ethan is content in the knowledge that this isn’t an ending. There will be more dinners, more kisses, and they’ll take things slowly but still have something between them. Now, there’s no turning back.

Ethan takes a deep breath before going to the dishes. It’s okay. He’s made a decision, and everything is going to be okay.

And for the next eight months, it is. They have dinner together once a week- twice, if they’re lucky- and Ethan grows accustomed to frequent kisses of all different sorts. Quick pecks when they pass by, lingering lips when they have time to just kiss in peace. Affectionate drops to his temple. A few times, he’s experienced Crockett’s warm mouth on his neck, gentle still and easy to drown in. He knows the kisses well, as he knows every touch Crockett craves and reaches for desperately. Ethan knows when Crockett needs to hold hands, when he needs a hug, when he just wants some form of contact between them. It’s a language just the two of them speak, and throughout that time, Ethan’s doubts slowly fade away. He’s with Crockett because he wants to be. And it’s okay that he wants this, there’s nothing wrong with loving Crockett.

Fuck, Ethan loves him.

Sitting on the couch with takeout, watching some shitty movie together, Ethan realizes he loves Crockett so much that it almost hurts. He loves him. He loves him, and the doubts suddenly seem so far away in the face of realizing something as important as this.

“I love you,” he says.

Crockett doesn’t even say it back. In the blink of an eye, their food is on the coffee table and Crockett is on him, kissing him hard and holding him close. This is different than their other kisses. It’s hurried, heated. It’s something Ethan’s never felt from him, but now doesn’t know how to live without.

He wraps his arms around Crockett’s waist to hold him close, keep him from pulling back and ending this. This is going to lead somewhere new. But it’s okay, he’s okay, and Crockett is kissing him and he allows himself to go beyond touching Crockett’s narrow waist. To more of him. A palm on his ass, one on the small of his back. Knowing what it looks like and feeling it are two extremely different things, and he’s glad for learning the way Crockett’s body feels under his touch. 

And Crockett reacts to his touch, too. Sighs into the kiss, presses himself in closer against Ethan’s chest. He’s warm. He’s heavy. He’s beautiful. He’s perfect. And this is going somewhere. Crockett pulls away and Ethan almost complains, but he loses himself in the way Crockett looks. Cheeks flushed. Lips a little swollen. Eyes wide. 

“Before we go further,” Crockett says, out of breath, “I wanna make sure you’re ready for this.”

It’s so sweet, so him, and Ethan might cry. Instead, he kisses Crockett again and stands up, slipping his arms beneath Crockett’s thighs to carry him toward the bedroom. He knows they won’t be able to go “all the way” tonight. He’s actually been looking into this, more than he wants to admit, and he didn’t plan for them to do this tonight. Fuck, should he really be thinking about that right now?

He doesn’t have time to think about anything else, because when they reach the bed, Crockett pulls him down and he loses himself in kissing again. He’s drowning, and it’s like breathing for the first time. Ethan fucking loves him. He loves him. He loves him, and Crockett is pulling at his shirt to speed this along. Yes. 

Now that he’s shirtless, he focuses on getting Crockett undressed, on seeing all of him. Knowing all of him. Being able to show him how much he means, and make Crockett feel for an instant the way Ethan has started feeling every damn day. And with more skin available, tan and warm, there’s more of him to kiss.

His body is different than Ethan’s used to trailing his lips over, but it’s Crockett, and Ethan knows him. He knows the way the planes of his chest feel, and it’s not much different when he covers him in kisses and Crockett’s hand is a barely there pressure against his scalp.

“I love you too,” Crockett whispers.

It’s too much and Ethan squeezes his eyes shut to try and ground himself. There’s no escaping this, and he doesn’t want to. He’s happy.

“So,” Crockett says, the cocky edge returning to his voice as he shifts on the mattress. “Baby’s first blowjob?”

Ethan just laughs and kisses Crockett’s hip.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr @princessbekker


End file.
